


Periodically Awkward

by guiltyhousewife



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Pocahontas (1995)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Interracial Relationship, M/M, Nerdiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 02:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17889575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guiltyhousewife/pseuds/guiltyhousewife
Summary: AU set in modern day high school or college.Thomas/Kocoum, Thomas and John have transferred into a new school where John and Pocahontas (the head of the debate team) hook up right away. Much to the annoyance of Thomas, who has to see his best friend a lovey-dovey, and Kocoum, who keeps a close eye on his cousin. Kocoum happens to be the star player of whatever sport filler chooses, making him way out of science nerd Thomas' league.It doesn't help that Thomas accidentally blew up his chemistry experiment all over Kocoum.





	Periodically Awkward

The boy's bathroom wasn't the ideal hiding place, with the questionable smells, questionable noises, and white walls and floors, but it would have to do until the mortification loosened it's hold on his body and mind. 

Sure, he felt a little guilty taking up the handicap stall, you know, because what if some waterlogged and desperate kid in a cast came hobbling in?, but it was too open outside of the stall, and too awkward in one of the little stalls. 

He leaned his back against the cool tile and covered his face miserable in his hands, urging himself not to replay what just happened, but doing it anyway.

Baking soda....everywhere. Just everywhere. And all over Kocoum's nice Letterman jacket, too. 

It's just, how could he concentrate in chemistry that day, when his teacher sadistically paired him with one of the hottest and most admired males in school? Of course, Pocahontas and his friend John were paired together. They made the ideal picture of diversified beauty and peace: Her long black hair swinging free in a curtain over her long arms, folded on the marble-top as she laughed quietly to one of John's little jokes. In her cross-country uniform, the full leanness and muscles of her body could be appreciated. John was physically admirable, of course, strong, his voice maturing early into a soft, but deep caress, his hair growing carelessly to his neck in his white polo. 

Of course, it was during debate meets that the golden couple really shown, her even, soft voice pairing with John's easy and likable confidence as they navigated their way through any argument or issue. John used to have a conservative, pro-establishment slant to his debates, but his relationship with Pocahontas had changed him too, and they shared their salads and waters together on the lunch benches outside. 

But Thomas couldn't fault her, even though she changed her friend so entirely. She really did try to reach out to him, showing up, yes, on days when Thomas thought it would just be the two boys together, but unobtrusively, her gentle and stress-less aura eventually endearing her company to his. 

They could work together, though John sometimes stopped to steal a kiss, but work together with Kocoum? It was unthinkable? 

Kocoum was Pochantas's cousin, who followed her here to this school, to keep an eye on his free spirited cousin. While she had acclimated herself fluidly to mainstream, American life, Kocoum still stubbornly wore the soft animal hide long-tunics, though he wore faded, bleached out jeans with them now instead of leggings. He worked with his family on the reservation, and though cared about school enough to earn his family pride through decent grades, it was easy to tell his interest wasn't in becoming popular, or even going to college, he was here for Pochantas. The only high school distraction he did indulge himself in was cross country. John Smith and his friends begged him to join football, for his muscle, but Kocoum was distantly contemptible of others company, and the silence that accompanied his runs through the woods pleased him. Thomas had heard others swear that he never seemed to get tired, running. 

No one dared made fun of him for the way he stood out: he was tall, taller than John Smith and most of the teachers, and built more like a man than a teenager. He too kept his hair long, though in a severe ponytail tied with minimalist twine. His skin was so dark, darker than his sisters, like tree bark, though not as dark as his eyes, black slate in his face as he stared Thomas down, without a word, as the red-head tried to explain the experiment and it's purpose. He tugged nervously at his green hoodie, shuffling his feet in his worn sneakers. If Kocoum would just say something! But he was the silent type, speaking only to Pochantas usually, and in their native tongue. 

His impossibly-steady gaze unnerved Thomas, and he was aware, all too aware, of how he must look in comparison, small, slight, angular, with a messy mop of red hair he had tried to masculinize by cutting short in the back, now shoved under a gray cap in hopes to discourage attention. In contrast to John Smith, who always looked clean and put together, though he swore he didn't care about appearances, Thomas slunk around in his hoodies and baggy shirts, his only indulgence the tight jeans he liked to wear with his favorite army-surplus boots. 

"So,anyway, this test is just illustrating what happens when you combine an acid, like vinegar, with a base, like baking powder."

Silence, his only reply from his lab partner. Was he bored? Uncomprehending? Now, he wasn't stupid, Thomas didn't think. Maybe he wasn't being clear enough, or interesting enough. 

"It's actually pretty easy, figuring out the best ratio to make the proper reaction. Here, just start by pouring this small amount of vinegar in first, and we'll increase it gradually," He held the test tube out to Kocoum, the waiting becoming awkward as the older teen hesitated, before reaching out to take it. 

Thomas jumped when he felt Kocoum's fingers touch his in grasping the test tube. So smooth. How could they smooth, when he worked so constantly? Was that just how his skin was? Thomas tried to steele himself, threatening his body with humiliation if it couldn't get control of this silly little crush. Just don't think about the way he smells, the earthiness, the crushed leaves, the cool wind, the sweat and the earth and the spice...No. Don't think about that. And don't think about the way his arm flexes involuntarily as it crosses in front of you, the way those muscles must hold such power, how hard they must feel pressed against you...

"You know what? I'll just take that, let me do it-" He blurted out, snatching the test tube from Kocoum's hand and dumping the entire contents into the beaker of baking soda, the abrupt gesture turning the glass container over into Kocoum's lap even as it overflowed with fizz. 

Thomas groaned, and banged his head on the bathroom wall behind him. Kocoum may not have been ever aware that Thomas and his love existed before, but now, he must hate him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Thomas? Hey, Tommy, you in here?"

A familiar voice at the bathroom's entrance. 

When Thomas didn't reply, the door was opened, and John Smith's friendly but concerned face peered in.

"JOHN!!! Don't just barge in, what if I was...you know, using the bathroom?"

John laughed and quirked an eyebrow down at Thomas crumpled in a miserable heap.

"On the floor?"

Thomas flushed, and considered getting up, before wrapping his arms around his legs tighter.

"Well, you should still knock. It's a bathroom."

"Then you should lock the door, then." John countered.

"Okay, okay, you win. Sheesh, this isn't one of your debate competitions."

John's eyes softened as he was reminded of his friend's unhappiness. 

"I know, buddy. But listen, I came to put a stop to this ridiculous moping. Come back out of here. Let's go back to class, or at least to lunch."

Thomas rolled his eyes.

"I can't ever go back."

"Now that's a bit dramatic, isn't it?"

"No, it isn't. You saw what I did! Everyone will laugh. Plus, Kocoum hates me-"

John's knowing smile stopped him from continuing that thought. Of course, John knew everything about him, including his long-suffering crush on the cross country star, Kocoum. How he managed to keep it a secret, when his girlfriend was related to the guy, he would never know, but he did, and Thomas appreciated the understanding and respect from his friend. 

"Thomas, Kocoum doesn't hate you." Thomas whipped his head around at the other familiar voice outside the door, and scrambled out of the stall to see none other than Pochantas standing in the middle of the bathroom.

"POCHANTAS, this is the boy's room!!!"

She smiled mysteriously and shrugged. Of course, none of that stuff mattered to her, no social limitation did. 

She came forward and laid a comforting hand on Thomas's shoulder, and he furiously wiped his eyes lest she see his tears. 

"John is right, it's not as bad as you are making it out to be."

"Yeah, well, how do you know Kocoum doesn't hate me?"

Curiously, Pochantas instead stared at John pointedly for the answer, a smile hovering on her lips.

"Should we tell him?"

"I don't see why we have to, it should be obvious." John replied.

Thomas got frustrated, hearing them talk over his head.

"Will someone please just tell me something?"

Pochantas stared him levelly in the face.

"Thomas, Kocoum doesn't hate you. He likes you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thomas laughed self deprecatingly at the bad joke.

"No, he most certainly does not."

John, too,met his eyes, and though he was smiling, it didn't seem in jest.

"Yeah he does, buddy, ole stony-silent Kocoum has the hots for you."

Thomas's mouth dropped open, as he considered the weight of that sentence, the impossible possibility of it. But no, it couldn't be true, could it?

"He doesn't even know I exist!" he protested.

"Well, after today he sure would..." John mumbled.

Pochantas socked him lightly on the arm, before turning her attention back to Thomas.

"Tell me, why do you think that?"

"Well, for one, he doesn't talk to me."

"Who does he talk to?" 

"Because you run away," Pochantas added to John's counter.

"And what you don't notice, Thomas, what you don't see, is that he is too shy to talk to you. He's silent because he's just as uncomfortable around you as you are around him."

"Kocoum, uncomfortable??" 

John ignored his friend's outburst of hero-worship, and picked up where Pochantas left of.

"He came early to chemistry class, today, you know, to request you as his lab partner."

Thomas felt his head spinning, and put his palm up to his forehead. 

"I just-I just can't believe it."

John laughed. "It's pretty obvious, pal, at least to the rest of the school. The way he threatens anyone trying to bully you, the way he insists no one sits in the front seats of class so you can have them, the way if you're in line behind him at lunch he declines the last dessert so you can have it. It's pretty romantic, I have to admit."

Pochantas smiled at her boyfriend warmly. 

"But- but I spilled that stuff on him. How could he not be mad?" Thomas weakly protested as the pieces started to slam together in his mind. 

Pochantas gave turned him towards the door, and John gave his buddy a light shove.

"Go talk to him, you'll see. He's in the locker rooms"

Thomas got all the way to the door and was about to walk down the hallway before it hit him what a socially suicidal act he was just about to commit, and turned back towards his friends.

"Sometimes, it's annoying how convincing you guys are."

"Hey, we're debate team-it's what we do best!" John called out genially. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The locker rooms were, mercifully, empty when Thomas arrived. Well, it was pretty late after school, and cross country practice must be long over. He could vaguely hear the sound of a shower in the distance, but chalked it up to stragglers. 

He looked around.

What exactly was he supposed to do?

'Oh, hey Kocoum, so Pochantas and John told me that you like me, and I was wondering if that was true, because that would be really, really great if it was.'

Sighing, Thomas went searching for Kocoum's locker. If he could maybe clean up a little bit of his mess from earlier--

He found the locker fairly easily. Kocoum had left a dream-catcher of some sort hanging from the front, and luckily, it wasn't locked when Thomas tried the door. The stained Letterman jacket was missing,but that was probably for the best; he didn't want to ruin such an expensive, nice piece of clothing, anyway. Crumpled at the bottom were Kocoum's jeans from earlier, blotched white with the baking powder/vinegar mixture spilled upon them. 

Thomas paused for a moment, feeling the still-warm fabric in his hands, the weight of it, the smell, but dragged himself away from that dangerous train of thought, and grabbed the wet rag and bottle of distilled club soda he brought with him. He sat down on a bench in front of the locker row and went to work scrubbing and padding in turns to get the denim clean.

So absorbed was he, in his work, that he didn't hear someone enter the locker room until he felt a large, heavy hand fall upon his shoulder, and heard the rumbled.

"Excuse me, what are you doing to my pants?"

Thomas jumped with a sharp cry, and whirled around to see a 

Tall.

Dripping Wet.

Semi-naked Kocoum standing behind him, looking down at him in confusion.

His mouth worked fruitlessly a couple times before his mind managed to choke out some words, if not unintelligible.

"Um...cleaning?"

Kocoum's look of confusion deepened, the gravity in his face darkening.

"My pants."

"Oh, yeah, these are yours." He jumped to his feet, the bench screeching along the floor when he got his foot caught, and fell back against the locker trying to right himself. He thrust the pants out to Kocoum, letting the rag and bottle fall to the floor. 

"Here's your pants. Sorry."

Kocoum took them slowly, setting them aside on the bench next to him.

"It is fine." he said. Thomas realized, a moment of joy in his hour of fear, that he was finally hearing Kocoum speak to him. And what a voice! So deep, so chocolate, so controlled and rumbling and Oh God...

"But still, what were you doing with my pants?" Kocoum persisted.

Thomas felt himself literally melting under the heat of his own blush and his back slid down the locker behind him, wishing for escape. "I felt bad, you know, about ruining your clothes earlier, and thought that maybe if I cleaned them, you wouldn't be mad." He stammered, feeling stupid.

Kocoum's brows lowered, as if saddened, or thoughtful.

"That wasn't necessary."

Wait.

"What?"

"There's nothing to apologize for. It was an accident." Kocoum explained with an unquestionable calm. 

Thomas could manage nothing in reply. It was so simple, the way Kocoum said it, that his worries were washing away into a puddle at his feet. And, if Kocoum insisted on standing this close, his mind would follow soon. 

Oh, Kocoum. His jet black hair was made even darker by the water, and was pushed back to plaster across his muscled shoulders and back. His eyes couldn't help but follow the path of one drop of water in particular as it dived down between his pectorals, across his rippled stomach, and down, to be soaked into the towel loosely slung around his waist. 

So close.

"Did Pochantas and John talk to you?" Kocoum asked, interrupting his fantasy of being that water drop.

"Yes, but how did you know?"

"I asked them to."

Thomas's brain scrambled for purchase. Kocoum sent them? Those deceitful, manipulative friends of him! Sending him like some sort of lamb to a prepared slaughter. 

"I thought, that after today,after what happened, that maybe it was for the best that you know my feelings for you."

"For me?" Thomas voiced the confusion, the rebelling against the reality of his words, aloud. "Your feelings for me?"

Kocoum laughed a little. It was different from Pochantas's or John's frequent laughter. No, it was a soft exhalation of the nose, a true, unjudging expression of pleased amusement at something small, silly, and dear. 

He took Thomas's chin in his hand, and turned his face up to meet his, tearing the boy's eyes away from his body. Thomas felt his back buckle, though miraculously, he did not fall. Was the slightest touch of Kocoum holding him up?

"You're such a strange, creature, Thomas." He pushed away the younger teen's hat, letting it fall to the floor to join the rag and the bottle. He ran his hand freely, reverently, through the soft, messy locks he found there. "So strange, with this red hair, your nervousness, your slightness. I have never been able to tell what is going on in your mind, whether you would possibly return my affections." His smile seemed bittersweet, and he waited, looking down into the face of the worshiping teen in his loose grasp.

This time, Thomas could not manage a reply, not a single one, not even an awkward one. 

Kocoum waited in the silence, letting his hand rest on Thomas's head, until he couldn't help but prompting, a dear expression of his own impossible insecurities. 

"Well, do you, Thomas?"

"Please." Thomas said it without thinking, his body taking control and calling out for help to deal with the fires within. He was burning: he needed water, he needed relief, he needed Kocoum. And so consumed was he by this burning, he could barely managed to solicit assistance. 

But like the hero he had always imagined in his lonely, hopeless little dreams, Kocoum understood and leaned gently down to cover Thomas's parted mouth with his own.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An exclamation of pleased surprise from Thomas passed between their sealed lips, and his hands flew out with un-thought-of familiarity to Kocoum's shoulders for stability. 

It was...close to what imagined,but then again, not close, not close at all. The smooth pressure of the man's lip, the strong, slick muscle gently but confidently making it's way into his mouth, the taste of cinnamon and some sort of tobacco. He didn't want to breathe again, if it meant coming up from this. 

Kocoum made a pleased noise when he felt the eagerness of the younger teen's mouth beneath him, but broke away, to gauge the other's willingness. The wet hazel eyes staring up at him so hopefully, wantingly, trustingly, took him by surprise, and he wondered why it took him this long to notice. 

He had to ask, though.

"Are you sure?"

Thomas looked at him in an expression of pure bewilderment. 

"Yes, yes of course."

Kocoum smiled, and captured his mouth again, tilting the teen's head back for better access. Thomas squirmed as he felt their lips slide against one another, and pressed his thighs together, feeling horribly but thankfully closed. His movement nudged something, and Kocoum made a small growl, when Thomas looked down and saw a quite large erection making its appearance through the slowly slipping towel. 

He did that.

He, Thomas, did that, to Kocoum.

Without hesitation, he reached down and loosed the towel free, his hands grasping for dear life on the heated, firm flesh he found there. 

Kocoum's back straightened with a hiss, and his hips pushed forward. Thomas took it as a sign to continue, and let his hands wrap fully around the shaft, his forehead resting against Kocoum's chest as he looked down, watching as the veins in the dark flesh of Kocoum's cock jumped if he pressed there, tickled there, caressed there. Kocoum growled again, which Thomas self consciously took as impatience, and felt his heart leap when he decided on what he wanted to do.

Kocoum looked down in surprise as Thomas pushed him back gently, before falling to his knees, face to face with the strained head of his dick. He wanted to tell Thomas he didn't have to, that he didn't expect him to, but the sight of the fey, scarlet-headed teen so worship-fully contemplating his cock robbed him, just this once, of decorum. 

Thomas didn't have any real know-how of pleasing a man, but he thought back to what he read in those secret, midnight hours and opened his mouth slowly at first, then wide, taking him into his mouth. To his relief, the other teen tasted clean, fresh from the shower, the flesh swelled and pulsed in his mouth. His ears rang with the sound of Kocoum's manly groans above him, the hand tangled in his hair. To be doing this, to be sinking lower and deeper onto another man's cock, no, not just any man, Kocoum's, to be the source of such pleasure, thrilled a secret place in him, and he let his tongue wander, trying his hardest to harvest more groans of pleasure above him. 

Kocoum jerked him up, and the cock fell from his mouth gracelessly. He was whipped around, his burning face pressed against the cold locker and Kocoum kept him there by the weight of his larger frame. His mind reeled in panic and fear. What had he done wrong? Was Kocoum going to hurt him?

"You must forgive me," Kocoum rumbled into his back, "But I can't stop myself."

His pants were yanked down, and he yelped as the skin of his ass was simoltaneously exposed to the air and kneaded appreciatively in strong fingers. 

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you." Kocoum assured, and Thomas relaxed, believing him, feeling warm and pliable as his skin was handled. He gasped loud when Kocoum's hand was suddenly there, on his own neglected erection, pumping in even, sure strokes. 

"Oh, oh my God-" he panted into the air. Never, had he been touched like this. Never, did he want it to stop.

His body broke down when he felt Kocoum's shaft slide up from his thighs to nestle between his crevasse, and the man began to thrust there, against his entrance, against the soft skin of his bottom. He broke against the locker, legs sliding out, apart, trying both to fall back against Kocoum's chest to seek more contact, and to push his ass back further. 

His orgasm surprised him, and his body seized in surprise as the power of it, the involuntary, hard jerks of his body, his cry ripping from his throat as he spilled over Kocoum's hand. He felt too, the older teen remove his damp hand and use it to grip Thomas's hips hard, slamming him into the locker with several hard thrusts and he came slowly, savouringly, his head thrown back, the muscles in his throat tight and beautiful. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Later, Thomas sat shivering on the shower bench. 

Kocoum was still finishing his second shower of the day, Thomas had quickly and quietly cleaned up himself. 

He wasn't cold, though. No, he was just replaying the events of the past hour in his head, and clapped a hand to his mouth when an involuntary sobbing laugh broke from his mouth. 

What he had done....what they had done. Had it really happened? 

He felt again, something heavy drop on his shoulders, and looked to see the bright red, Letterman jacket there, stain-free. He looked up into Kocoum's warm, concerned expression.

"You are cold?"

Thomas smiled, too, feeling the movement in his belly and heart.

"No, no I'm not."

 

************ Even short reviews inspire me to write more!***************


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